


of a technicoloured sea

by noezac



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Horde Adora (She-Ra), Hurt/Comfort, Poetry, Pre-Canon, catradora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noezac/pseuds/noezac
Summary: When the world outside has turned to rubble, and the Horde is but a cold and empty shell in which the danger of Shadow Weaver brews in the hallways, Adora and Catra resort to poetry to entertain themselves. But what starts off as silly limericks and mockery of the nefarious Shadow Weaver soon evolves into something much sweeter. In the end, its Catra who decides to first write her feelings down.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	of a technicoloured sea

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying something don't judge me

Catra was hanging upside down. Sort of like a bat. She wasn't a bat, she was a girl. Or a cat. Actually, Adora had never really asked Catra _what_ she was. Adora thought maybe Catra didn't know, and that maybe it was a sore subject; she herself felt comfortable knowing who she was, an 18 year old Etherian girl. She was an orphan, but her heritage didn't bother her; her Etherian parents hadn't wanted her, so rosebud of the Horde, Shadow Weaver, had taken her in. 

"I've counted these pipes, you know," Catra said, pulling herself upright. "I've sat here and counted them a thousand times."

"How many are there?" Adora asked.

"How am I supposed to know." Catra dropped down from her perch--amusingly, another pipe--and landed beside Adora on all fours. She _had_ to be part cat. "I'm bored."

"Shadow Weaver gave us a week of duty," Adora sighed. "You know, after the incident."

"It wasn't an in-" Catra's ears were peaked. She noticed, pushed them back down, and lowered her voice. "I'm just saying she should at least give us something to do."

"Okay," Adora said, nudging her friend with her shoulder. "Here's a challenge: What rhymes with Shadow Weaver."

"Easy," Catra said. "Poopy Eater."

Adora wrinkled her nose. "Gross. And that's a half-rhyme dummy, it needs to end in -eaver."

Catra pouted, because she was Catra, and she loved to make Adora melt. "Let's here yours then."

Adora rubbed her hands together. "Shadow Weaver: The Disco Diva."

Catra burst out laughing, and that warm bubble of Catra-ness burst inside of Adora again. She was smitten with her best friend.

"Okay, Okay," Catra said. "Shadow Weaver? Pff, I'm a non-believer."

Adora smiled. "I love that. What about: _she weaves the shadows with her stinky big toe?_ "

Catra cocked her head. "Not as good. How about: Her name is Weaver, preceded by Shadow. With her bad breath, I bet she's a widow!"

"Catra," Adora said in her Catra-reserved stern voice. "That's mean."

"Yeah, well." Catra crossed her arms. "So's she."

"Okay," Adora said, trying to turn the mood back to somewhat lighthearted. "New challenge: by the end of this week, you have to make a little rhyming poem about me."

Catra shook her head. "No way."

"And I'll make one about you."

"Deal."

"Deal."

And so they shook on it. At the touch of Catra's hand, Adora felt the warmth rise in her chest for the second time that day. 


End file.
